


Ill

by darkmus



Series: Imagine Your OTP [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-13 22:30:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1242934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkmus/pseuds/darkmus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine Person A of your otp getting sick, like a flu or a cold. They know what to do, because they’re used to it, but Person B is panicking slightly, because they've never been in a situation like this. Person A tells Person B what to do and what to get, and eventually, after Person B has calmed down, they snuggle on something comfy, even though that might mean Person B getting sick later. (<a href="http://darkmus.tumblr.com/post/61460734739/imagineyourotp-imagine-person-a-of-your-otp">x</a>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ill

It was a disaster.

John was ill and confined to bed and Sherlock was without a case. Had he been a superstitious man, Sherlock would have concluded that these things were inexplicably linked. (He was not and they were not, but in any event the whole situation was maddening.)

John, as a doctor, was completely unfazed with his current condition. This was a stark contrast to Sherlock, who, while an expert on the dead, was not a medical professional like his blogger. As such, he did not know how to deal with an invalid.

"Sherlock," John groaned, "I'm fine." He grabbed another tissue and blew his nose. He was using up every clean tissue in the flat.

"I must disagree. You are certainly not 'fine'," countered Sherlock. "How am I supposed to Work without you when I have a case?

"They might assign me someone incompetent, like Anderson," he grumbled to himself with a sneer.

"You don't have a case," growled John.

"But if I did--" said Sherlock, anxiously walking back and forth from one side of John's bedroom to the other.

"Stop pacing. You're making me dizzy."

Sherlock did not seem to hear him (or was ignoring his request).

"Sherlock! Stop!" shouted John. "Go... go make me a cuppa."

Sherlock stopped this time and, with a glare of frustration, quit the room.

He walked to the kitchen on auto-pilot, too distressed by the whole turn of events (namely, John's condition and lack of cases). He blindly boiled some water for tea.

He needed John. (For the Work, of course.)

When he returned to John's room with the cuppa, John looked much worse. 

"John!"

Sherlock quickly rushed to John's side and placed the mug on the nightstand.

"I'm fine. Really." 

After seeing the look on Sherlock's face, John rolled his eyes.

"Fine… if you-- I don't know. Get… a wet towel… put on my forehead and keep changing…"

Sherlock did as instructed, carefully watching John for any changes in his status.

After a while, John seemed to drift off to sleep.

Sherlock's eyes roved around his face, taking in John's slackened features, pausing here and there to swap out for a cooler towel.

Then, at some moment, Sherlock noticed that John was still. Too still.

"John?"

Sherlock leaned down to observe him closer.

No, he was definitely still breathing. Still alive, then. ('Of course he would still be alive; John isn't at Death's door!' he berated himself.)

His eyes landed on John's lips, pink and chapped, yet somehow also inviting. Suddenly, Sherlock became very aware that he was entirely too close to John's face. He turned pink and quickly sat back up, making himself slightly dizzy.

He ended up staying in John's room all night until John's fever broke in the morning.

The next day, John was feeling much better. Sherlock, however, was not.

"Sherlock! You have a fever!"

In hindsight, it was obvious this would happen, Sherlock deduced groggily, having breathed in all of John's germs.

"Get in bed. I'll get you some medicine."

Sherlock rolled his eyes but did as he was told. After all, his John was a doctor.


End file.
